Just Give In… (17 page)

“I prepared the paperwork, Austen. I think we have everything we need. You’ll write a check to Miss Hart here for the financial value of the messuage.” The lawyer paused, chuckling to himself. “Love that word. Just rolls off the tongue. That’s lawyer-talk for house and land. Then we transfer one third of the mineral rights.”

“Tyler signed his part, already? I tried to call yesterday but Edie—that’s his girlfriend—said he was in surgery.”

“I didn’t need his signature. Tyler signed over his parcel to you already, Austen.”

And they thought the lawyers knew it all? Ha.
“I think you’ve made a mistake there, Hiram. He didn’t say anything to me. Maybe you’ve got your last will and testaments confused.”

The old lawyer pulled out a sheet of paper and slid it across the desk. “No mistake. All signed, sealed and delivered.”

Austen studied the document, double-checked the signature and, God knows, it looked like that same illegible doctor’s scrawl that Tyler used, but it couldn’t be. He pushed the paper away.

“He would have told me,” Austin insisted. Nobody knew his brother like he did. It wasn’t that Tyler wasn’t generous. It’s just that he never thought of things like that. And since Austen didn’t, either, it worked.

“He wanted to surprise you. A wedding present,” the lawyer explained.

“Tyler doesn’t like surprises.”

“I bet Edie does,” Brooke added in a quiet voice.

“If she made him do it…”

“Austen…” his sister began, smiling at him as if he were being a little slow. Now, normally Austen didn’t mind that, but considering Brooke’s recent disclosures, he didn’t think that people in glass houses needed to be hurling stones. “She didn’t make him do it.”

“You know that for a fact?” he shot back, because he would feel more comfortable if duress had been involved.

“No, but call him. Ask him about Edie if it will make you feel better, but I think it’s meant as a gift.”

The lawyer coughed discreetly. “Dr. Hart was very insistent. I don’t think there’s any coercion here.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to Brooke. “I believe Clayton Oakes is handling lease for the mineral rights. Nice fellow, does honest work, but watch the royalty rates. You can always negotiate a few points higher. I have his number written down, but call me if you think he’s trying to low-ball you.”

It was at that point that Austen stopped listening and waited for the world to resume it’s normal, less dizzying rotation.

“Are you okay?” Brooke asked, sounding like a sister.

Austen slowly shook his head. “This isn’t Tyler. Y’all don’t know him. You know, the Harts, we’re sort of ‘all for no one’ and ‘no one for all.’”

Brooke laughed, a disbelieving laugh, as if they were a family. “Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think. Maybe all for no one sucks. Why don’t you call him? You should and, while you’re gone, I’ll have a chat with Hiram.” Brooke looked happy, cheerful, as if this were a good thing.

Austen frowned, stared at the paper and then rose from the chair. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll call.”

Once outside, Austen pulled out his phone and tapped Tyler’s number on the touch screen, and then quit. What was he supposed to say to his brother? Thanks? What the hell are you doing?

A wedding present? Sure, he expected his brother to give him something. A silver tankard with the date engraved on it. Maybe some fancy plates or crystal. But this?

There were lines here that weren’t usually crossed. On Tyler’s birthday, Austen sent a card and a gift certificate to a nice restaurant, usually a steak house, because they’d never had a lot of expensive meat growing up. At Christmas, Tyler called and told him “Merry Christmas,” and then sent him a sweater. Always cashmere. Usually blue.

As for Thanksgiving, that was a holiday usually spent solo. There were strict rules in the Hart family, and here went Tyler, breaking a rule—and Tyler was not, as a rule, a rule-breaker.

Austen sat on the curb and stared down the main street of Tin Cup, noticing the friendly waves in his direction and the way it all felt so…
good.

So when had this hell turned into home? Was it when Dot started sliding him extra bacon with his breakfast at the diner? Or when Gillian’s parents had told him and Gillian to take the Hart land and build a new and better house on it, something for Austen and Gillian, and the grandkids when they came?

So many bad memoires of Tin Cup, Texas, but not anymore. Now, the memories were coming up good—Brooke Hart included. Still contemplating this new, contented sort of feeling, Austen hit Tyler’s number on the phone and waited, waited.

Finally, it was no surprise when he reached his brother’s voice mail.

“Ty? It’s Austen. Your brother. The lawyer told me what you did. Thanks. Say, Edie didn’t put a gun to your head, did she? Nah, I’m sure she didn’t, but it’s nice what you did. You didn’t have to. I mean, I know you’re not suffering for cash or anything, but, dude…it’s nice. Thanks.”

After that, he hung up, laughed at his own foolishness, and then called Tyler’s number again, waiting patiently for the beep.

“And one more thing. I know you’re going to be here for the wedding, but could you and Edie stay on through Thanksgiving? We should do that, don’t you think? We’ll get some turkey and beer…and watch football. Gillian will love it. What do you think? I’d like to have you down here, bro. It’d be nice. We’re family.”

Austen hung up and smiled.

Family, what a concept.

Then he called his brother’s voice mail again.

“I promise this is the last message, but I talked to Brooke this morning. Lots of crazy shit to tell you, bro. You wouldn’t believe it. She was lying her ass off about the stepdad, the house, getting married and Charlene taking her on all those trips.” He laughed, and it was a good laugh. “Yeah, she’s definitely one of us. I think I’m going to like her.”

T
HE LAWYER SHUFFLED
his papers, coughing in that way people have when they’re annoyed, but don’t want the world to know they’re annoyed, but of course, the world knows anyway. “I’m sorry I missed you last week. If I had known you had your birth certificate, I would have let Austen proceed with the paperwork. You can’t be too cautious these days. I hope you understand.”

Brooke understood only too well. “How is your father?”

“Better, thank you for asking. He’s not a good patient, and likes to have someone to listen to his complaints. I’m sorry that it took longer than I thought. Did Mr. Kincaid give you my message?”

Brooke lifted her head. “No, he didn’t say a word.”

“I called the number you left for me.”

“The Captain is a very busy man. I’m sure it slipped his mind,” she assured Mr. Hadley, knowing very well it hadn’t slipped the Captain’s mind.

“Not that it matters,” the lawyer droned on. “Mr. Oakes will need your signature on the mineral rights lease, assuming the signing bonus and royalty rates are agreeable. Remember what I said, don’t let Clayton low-ball you. It’s a tidy sum, and I bet a little extra revenue will come in handy. First, the train station, now some new oil and gas work. The times, they are a-changing, don’t you agree?”

Brooke blinked, recognized the man was waiting for an answer and nodded stupidly. Why hadn’t the Captain said something? She told herself not to read anything into it. Most likely he’d forgotten, or he hadn’t thought it was important, or maybe there were a million other reasons that meant nothing at all.

Still, after transfer of the mineral rights was done and Austen’s check was folded neatly in her pocket, Brooke sprang from her seat with an extra happy bounce.

No, she didn’t want to read anything into it, but maybe the times were a-changing after all.

J
ASON WAS OUTSIDE
, removing nails from some old railroad ties, when he heard a ringing noise coming from the house. The phone.

Jason’s first thought was that Brooke was calling, that her car had broken down, that she’d lost her job, that she needed something. Him. But then he lifted his head, checked the desolate landscape and realized that mirages existed not only in the desert, but also in brain-dead men’s imaginations, too.

However, he laid down the nail puller and headed for the house, his stride a little faster than it should be for a man who didn’t believe in the power of his imagination.

“Kincaid,” he answered, keeping his voice curt and not regretful at all.

“Jason, it’s George.”

As Jason listened to his brother, a chunk of bile rose in his throat. He tasted scrambled eggs and felt the hot sun grow cold. Quiet and alone, he sank down to the couch and stared until the vision in his one good eye grew blessedly dim.

T
HERE WAS A MINDLESS COMFORT
in copying and filing that Brooke needed at the moment. Leaving the Captain had left an emptiness inside her just as she was starting to learn exactly what
together
could mean. Sometimes when she walked along the friendly streets of town, she felt so very alone, looking at a world that she’d always wanted to be a part of, and yet feeling as if she’d never belong.

Maybe some people were born with the ability to blend in, whatever their surroundings, but not Brooke. Not yet, but hopefully she could learn.

She suspected that Gillian had dug up some busy-work for her that had been ignored, and it seemed that all around her, people were going out of their way to help Brooke get on her feet. Hiram had told her about a small apartment that would be vacant before the end of the year, and the rent was cheap, even by Brooke’s standards. Gillian’s mother had been bringing small casseroles by the Spotlight Inn so that Brooke wouldn’t have to go into town to eat if she didn’t feel like it. And best of all was Austen. He’d changed the oil and transmission fluid on the Impala. Helped her pick out a new rear tire—apparently the old one was on its last treads. He was starting to feel like an older brother.

Next door in Gillian’s office, Brooke could hear her arguing on the phone in that butter-melts-in-her-mouth fashion that Gillian had. In the end, Gillian usually got what she wanted, but apparently not this time.

The normally coolheaded woman flung open her office door and screamed.

Politely Brooke laid the files on the floor. “Is there a problem?”

“This wedding is going to kill me. It’s supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but do you think anybody gives a rat’s patootie? Heck, no. It’s just, ‘I don’t think we can get lilacs in November, Gillian.’ Can you believe it? This is America. They can get whatever the heck they want, and who cares if it’s November? Ask me if I care if it’s a free-range lilac or a genetically pure lilac. I just want my lilac. Do you think I’m crazy?”

Brooke decided it wouldn’t be the best time to laugh. “You’re not being crazy. Maybe I can help.”

Gillian raised a brow. “You can get lilacs for me?”

“No, but I bet I can get the florist to work a little harder.”

Gillian looked doubtful and, yes, Brooke couldn’t blame her for that, but frankly, people needed to stop underestimating what Brooke was capable of, and the best route to do that was for Brooke to step up to the plate and throw a touchdown, or something like that.

“You don’t mind?” She crossed her eyes and still looked gorgeous. “I’d be soooo grateful.”

“Not a problem. Let me give it a shot.” Brooke stood, rolled her shoulders and prepared for battle. “I’ll get you the lilacs. I swear.”

W
HAT IN
C
ARNATION
was a tiny shop full of flowers and stuffed teddy bears, and one very busy florist, Luna Chavez, who bustled back and forth, but had a calming, zen sort of smile.

“I’m acting for Gillian Wanamaker. She doesn’t know I’m here, but when I left the courthouse, she was in tears, and I had to do something.”

“Tears?” Luna put down her scissors, concern in her eyes.

Brooke hesitated, then nodded. “You think a strong woman like that would never cry, don’t you?”

“I felt so bad, but there is nothing I can do,” Luna explained, holding her hands up innocently.

“No way to get the lilacs in?”

“I tried very hard, but they’re not in season, and the plants will not grow whenever we want. It is nature’s way.”

Brooke exhaled, deeply, sadly. “It’s too bad that nature has to be so cruel. First her mother… Now this.” Slowly, head down, Brooke moved toward the door. “Her mother?”

Brooke turned and shrugged as if the weight of the world was a heavy, heavy thing. “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Now Luna was clearly alarmed. “Wait! Is there something wrong with Modine?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t say anything, maybe I’m butting in where I shouldn’t, but I love Gillian like she’s my own sister, and she’s just too proud to tell people what’s really going on. The Wanamakers are very proud people, but of course, I’m not telling you anything that you don’t know.”

“Has Modine seen a doctor?”

“It’s all very hush-hush. I’m sure it’s nothing. But the waiting is awful. It would mean so much to Gillian if she could make everything as easy as possible. Austen would be here to handle a lot of these details, but he’s at the Capitol today, planning for that breaking-ground ceremony for the new rail line, and Gillian was just ready to give up, and she never gives up, which tells you how bad it is….”

“I didn’t know.”

Brooke shot her a calming, very zen smile. “I know. Don’t worry about it. It’s nature’s way.”

This time, Luna was not so accepting of the adage. Give these people a crisis and who knew what they could do? “I could call my wholesalers in Houston, but it’s a long way, and they’ll charge an arm and a leg for delivery.”

“I’m sure that Gillian will pay whatever is necessary,” Brooke assured the woman, not that it was going to come to that. She poked at the nearest teddy bear and managed a sad smile. “Not that she’s having an easy time of it, you understand, having to support her mother and father, God bless them. I can’t believe that in this day and age, folks can be so generous around here….” Brooke laughed. “But of course you know that.”